The Celebration
by silberstreif
Summary: Radishes verse. He is Consort to the Lord of Praxus, a position of power and prestige... Yet, his icy Lordship shows no interest in him at all and by now Jazz is wondering he's just an excuse to placate the public. The invitation to the celebration of a bonding leads to the chance he has waited for - two orns with his oath-sworn. But is there really hope?
1. Chapter 1

This is part of a longer story cycle, of which around 20k words were deleted after two of my computers crashed. But the Celebration can stand alone and is complete, so I decided to update it. Other parts, like how Jazz even got there, Prowl's secret and family, etc. are probably added in the months to come.  
>Key theme to all stories are radishes, because why not? Thank you to:<br>pjlover666 - for encouraging me to continue.  
>Starfire201 - for being a wonderful beta.<p><strong><span>Radishes<span>**

**"The Celebration": Part One**

Praxus

The plaza in front of the Palaise was bustling with activity as the servants prepared everything for the small journey. Some were carrying the gifts for the hosts, others were polishing the already gleaming carriage, and others were seemingly just running around. The four truckformers that would later tow it stood by the towering gate and were syncing their protocols a last time. In the corner, next to the small ways that led to the private gardens, the bodyguards were talking over the dangerous steps of their journey.

Jazz sighed as he observed the chaos. It was just a two joor journey to the Barons of Simfur to take part in the celebrations for their bonding. What would the House look like when they had to go to Vos? Or worse, Iacon, which was (how far?) across the planet and where the House of their Prime resided? It was a good thing then that his Lord was not fond of needless travel, and even less fond of celebration and parties beyond what his position required. Though sometimes he did miss the small parties of his own House to which all the neighboring nobles had been invited. Those had been easy, fun orns, serving simultaneously for relaxation and strengthening their relationship with all those that were loyal. But he supposed that his Lord's rule over the flourishing city-state of Praxus and its counties was secure enough to not need such tactics.

Even if the House seemed sometimes a bit quiet for it.

"Lord Consort?" asked the Master of the House, head of all servants, with a bow. "We are prepared to leave in a breem. Is this all that you want to take with you?"

He stressed the 'all' and Jazz looked at the pile of bags and luggage for a moment, nearly expecting it to have shrunken. But no, it still was more than he had ever brought to such a celebration before. "Is it too much, Bowgrade?" he asked, a bit unsure.

"No, no, Lord Consort," the Master hastily assured him. "Of course not. It's just that you seem to have brought only a rather small collection of your wardrobe to choose from."

"I brought six different sets," argued Jazz. "I don't think I need more." Not for only one day of celebrations. You would need maybe two, at most. But then a thought came to him. "Does my Lord bring more?"

It would be bad, if Lord Prowl planned to change his wardrobe at every opportunity and he couldn't. He hadn't taken his Lord as one of those nobles, but then it also was the first big party they attended together.

"The Lord only brings four sets," answered Bowgrade, but Jazz was sure he detected hidden displeasure – and worry. Obviously the servant thought that so few wardrobes weren't sufficient of nobles of their – or at least his Lord's – standing.

"I'm sure they're four magnificent sets," he said comfortingly.

The Master of Servants nodded a bit more hopefully and clapped his hands. "Take the items of our Lord Consort to the carriage!" he ordered the servants that came running. Then he bowed to Jazz, "Please, excuse me Lord Consort, I have to oversee the last steps of preparation."

Jazz nodded and waved him away. Again, he was alone on top of the staircase that led to the Palaise, waiting for his Lord who was probably still working until the very last possible klick. It was a trait of his Lord that had infuriated many in the past, but one that made Jazz smile in admiration. He had always liked hard-working, honest mechs and no one could say that his Lord wasn't exactly that.

The doors finally opened and a black and white Praxian, wings high on his back, stepped out. As the sun hit the armor, the many silver inlays gleamed and gave him an exquisite look of moderate wealth. It was another thing that Jazz liked, his Lord showing that he was well off, but never to the point of bragging.

"Jazz," greeted his Lord with a nod – and nothing more.

Jazz bowed his neck. "My Lord," he returned the greeting. "We're nearly ready to depart."

"Good." His Lord observed the plaza coolly, then turned to him. "Then maybe we should board the carriage already." He offered his arm, as always the perfect gentlemech.

"As you wish." Jazz took the arm with a smile, but inside he was nervous.

He hadn't been alone with his Lord for any considerable time since their oath ceremony nearly a vorn back. Since then, they had met regularly, but his Lord had seemed too busy to care what his consort was doing. At least his allowance from the House had been generous, and would've made his siblings blanch in envy. For the first few decaorns he had bought games, then after that music and later music lessons and instruments... for the last several decaorns, though, he had only continued his lessons and left the rest of the money alone. He had bought everything he had wanted and it felt wrong by now to spend even more money of a mech who he saw at the evening meal at most if he was lucky.

Since then, he hadn't been able to forget the whispering thoughts of his processor around the question why Lord Prowl had taken him as his Consort at all. It couldn't have been for political reasons, as Jazz's family resided in the Grand Duchy of Polyhex which had few commercial relationships with the Grand Duchy of Praxus, or rather to say none besides the trading of hidden insults in the Noble Council of the Prime.

It also wasn't as if Lord Prowl needed an heir immediately. No one would challenge the rule of a mech that had brought nothing but prosperity and peace to his Grand Duchy and besides, the Lord's brother Smokescreen had been blessed by Primus with twins.

So, was Jazz just the mech with the highest compatibility ratings that looked good as his arm, and who gave him a bit more of a social image? After all, Lord Prowl was famous for showing nearly no emotions. Famous enough that every mech on Cybertron knew who was meant if someone said "his icy Highness".

No. Surely, Jazz was more than that. Or at least, he could be more than that.

The inside of the carriage was luxurious and comfortable, lacking nothing that could make a journey less of an ordeal. Jazz leaned back into the soft cushions and observed his Lord who had, predictably enough, taken out a datapad which he read attentively and made notes on from time to time.

Jazz had brought himself a novel to read, but instead relished in the chance of just watching Lord Prowl, to observe his doorwings that were far more expressive than his face, and the elegant hands that tightened from time to time, whenever he read something unpleasant.

How could he be more to this mech than whatever he was at the moment?

He needed to get his attention. Or maybe he could woo him. He had to smile at the thought. Wooing his icy Highness himself. But why not? He didn't dream of becoming more than Consort someorn, but to be acknowledged and respected was a goal worthy of fighting for.

For this reason, he had been searching for a gift to give his Lord for two decaorns now, but so far had found nothing. Lord Prowl was not a mech inclined to frivolities and needless, impractical things, and all practical things he desired he had bought and acquired over the vorns himself. It seemed to be a hopeless quest.

Looking again at his Lord, he decided that maybe a more direct approach was needed. He gathered his courage, well aware that this wasn't exactly proper, and asked:

"My Lord, if I may be so bold to ask, what are you reading?"

Lord Prowl looked up, face impassive, but wings twitching in what Jazz choose to interpret as surprise. After a small silence, the Lord answered: "I'm reading the interpretation of the tax statistic of the last 200 vorns of Yuss and the surrounding area and its predictions for the next 50 vorns if the population continues to rise as expected."

"I see." For a moment, Jazz wanted to drop the subject. While he had been educated in tax and statistics, he had never enjoyed them, but it was probably time to put his knowledge to use. Or at least to show that he was interested in what his Lord was working on, and that was true enough. "What are the predictions?"

Again Lord Prowl stared at him out of blue, deep, unfathomable optics, then he nodded. "The predictions are that the population will rise by twenty percent every hundred vorns, but that through the situation at the job market, which offers mostly badly paid labor jobs at the mines, the average population will stay poor. If nothing is done soon, we might be dealing with increased crime rates, a worsening health care system and the first slums in that region."

"Slums?" said Jazz truly shocked. The Grand Duchy of Praxus was famous for the very fact that it didn't have a single slum. "Can my Lord do something to prevent that?"

"Maybe." Lord Prowl put his stylus to his lower lip and narrowed his optics as he read the statistic again. "I'm contemplating relocating the processing industry of Januss to Yuss. But that will cost several million credits and will be a catastrophe to the city Januss."

For a moment, Jazz was excited that Lord Prowl was sharing this with him, especially hearing the deep conflict in his voice. Then, though, the worry for the cities outweighed this. "Isn't there anything else that could be relocated?"

"Nothing I can think of. Most industries would just cost too much money." Lord Prowl frowned. "Of course, I then considered schools and universities as they always have a positive effect on the economy, but Yuss is so far away from Praxus that most wouldn't switch schools, even if I implemented incentives."

That was true enough, admitted Jazz. If he had the choice between living in Praxus and living in Yuss, he wouldn't need an astrosecond to decide. "Doesn't Yuss offer anything?"

"Besides its mines which produce the finest metals in my dominion?" asked Lord Prowl. "No, nothing really, besides the natural opportunities their poor state of being offers. With which I mean the low costs of living as rents and that energon is very cheap."

Jazz frowned. There had to be a solution. His thoughts raced, and suddenly he had an idea. "My Lord, you said they produce metals, are there tellirium or tatimium mines by any chance?"

A glance to the datapad. "They offer both. Why?"

"Music instruments are made from those metals, also many artists work with them. Maybe we can relocate those schools there, or at least create a music center there..." Jazz trailed off uncertainly at the piercing gaze of his Lord. Maybe, it was a bad idea. Maybe, he should've said nothing at all.

Lord Prowl looked at his datapad, and the astroseconds of silence turned into eons for Jazz. Then, finally: "That would not change the situation entirely, but it would help ease the suffering of Yuss. Especially if I allocate the money I would've used to move the industry into supporting the music instrument industries." He looked up at Jazz. "This was a good idea, my Consort."

Warmth bubbled up in Jazz's spark as he relaxed and offered a smile. This was the first time Lord Prowl had called him 'my Consort' in a private setting, had acknowledged what he was to him.

It gave Jazz hope, and reinforced his determination.

"I only wish to see your dominion prosper," he said. 'And to make you proud of me,' he added in his thoughts.

Lord Prowl nodded and returned to his datapad.

The moment was over, but far from being forgotten. Especially as not even ten breems later, Lord Prowl handed Jazz another datapad without a warning and said: "I don't have the time to read it. Please do this for me and tell me afterwards if there was anything important."

It was the work of a secretary. It should have insulted Jazz, who was a noble born and raised. Instead, he saw the trust it cost Lord Prowl to give even this much of his work away. Knew, thanks to the servants, that Lord Prowl hadn't trusted anyone even that far since the last secretary had murdered Lord Prowl's creator, the previous Grand Duke of Praxus.

So he read the tax report of a small village that he had never heard of, and later reported as the carriage was reaching its destination that the village had an average harvest and would be able to pay its tax as always.

It was a little thing. But more than before.

Their destination turned out to be a moderate countryside villa with a sprawling garden. On the driveway other carriages were in front of them, most smaller and not as lavish as his Lord Prowl's carriage, but then this had been expected. This was the nobility of the Grand Duchy of Praxus and it would be an impolite statement to show more wealth than their betters, especially as it would've been an untrue statement. Still, as he hadn't seen most of these nobles since his own oath ceremony, he noticed that most of the carriages were of much better quality than those of comparable rank in Polyhex.

The moment their carriage had been spotted, movement came into the queue in front of them and the carriages of Dukes and Knights alike moved to the side to form an alley. Jazz, who once would have been one of those to move aside, couldn't help but feel strangely uncomfortable and proud at the same time.

"Please remain at my side until we are shown our rooms," said Lord Prowl quietly, while storing his datapads in his subspace. "Later you can mingle among the others."

Jazz nodded. "Of course, my Lord."

He wondered if Lord Prowl would mingle too. It was an activity he couldn't imagine the Grand Duke enjoying.

As the carriage opened, two kneeling servants greeted them. Between them was a red mech, who just bowed lightly as no noble was obliged to do more to a Grand Duke. Only a Prime could demand all and everyone to kneel.

"Rise," said Prowl and the noble did.

He wasn't slender as most nobles preferred, but more sturdily built like a Knight. Jazz couldn't remember having met him before, so maybe he had held the title of a Knight before bonding with the Baron of Simfur and claiming this title as well. There was no bonding 'down' the noble hierarchy.

"Grand Duke Prowl and Consort, my name is Baron Lighthouse of Simfur, bonded to Baron Softstep of Simfur. We are honored to receive you at the celebration of our bonding orn. Your presence will bring joy to this orn and ensure that it will be remembered for many hundred vorns to come."

"We're glad to be here this orn," answered Lord Prowl neutrally. "A bonding is a rare event worthy of jubilation and remembrance. May I ask where your Bonded is?"

The noble tried not to show any reaction to the question, but inside he probably flinched just as much as Jazz winced. Was it deliberate that Lord Prowl showed that the absence of the bonded Baron had been noticed? As they were bonded in the optics of the law as well as Primus and were one entity, it was accepted that one Baron spoke for both always. As such it wasn't necessary for both Barons to greet the Grand Duke, but it would have been more polite.

"I'm very sorry, but he's busy showing the already arrived guests their accommodations," said the Baron. "May I do the same for you, so you can refresh yourselves?"

"You may," said Prowl.

The Baron stepped aside and ordered his two servants to show the carriage the parking place and to bring the luggage of the Highnesses to their room.

That made Jazz listen. Room? As in a single one? In Praxus they recharged in rooms in the same wing, but different apartments. Even on their oath night, when they had interfaced for the first and last time, Lord Prowl had left immediately afterwards.

So the chance to share a room with Lord Prowl again was very welcomed. The Baron's villa probably couldn't offer enough rooms to every guest in any other way.

Inside, the villa reminded Jazz of his own home. It wasn't as stately and grand as Lord Prowl's Palaise by far, but it still had its own fair share of gold and silver and exquisite paintings on the wall. They were shown up the grand stairs and to the master bedroom of the villa. It made Jazz uncomfortable for a moment to know that they basically had driven the bondmates for whose celebration they had come from their own bedroom, but realistically he knew that nothing could be done. The discrepancy of their standing allowed for nothing else than to give the best they could to Lord Prowl and his Consort.

The Baron opened the doors wide and bowed again as he showed them inside with his hands. "I hope you like our humble abode."

They stepped into a nice living room with big windows facing the garden and an expensive carpet under their pedes. In the middle of the room were couches with silver metal mesh draped across them and on the right side a huge fireplace. A door led away, no doubt to the bedroom.

"It's beautiful," Jazz said, before his Lord had the chance to. It wasn't a faux pas per se, but he was more than aware that he had never answered in his Lord's stead before. "Very lovely, especially those windows. Thank you, Baron Lighthouse, we'll be very comfortable here."

The Baron relaxed for the first time since he had met them and even dared a small smile. "I'm glad to hear this, Consort. Grand Duke, do you need me for anything else?"

"No." Prowl stepped into the room. "This is more than adequate."

"Thank you. The opening banquet will begin at the thirteenth joor." He bowed and closed the doors behind him.

Jazz looked at his Lord with whom he would be alone for the next two joors, half expecting a reprimand. Instead, Lord Prowl walked to the couches, sat down and put his datapads from subspace on the table, starting to work again. He couldn't say that he was surprised and Jazz used the time to inspect the bedroom which they would share later. It was a bit bigger than the one he had in the Palaise for himself, but still smaller than the one they had shared on their oath night. He touched the mesh on the bed that ran through his fingers like the softest mercury. It would be a nice place to recharge in, even if he doubted that anything more would happen. Not with his Lord.

He walked back into the living room and from this viewpoint he saw that there was an alcove on the other side of the room, which was filled by a big musical instrument, a Zythern. And what a Zythern it was: sleek, of a dark elegant red with horns and crystal keys to play. Rarely had Jazz seen such a beauty outside the hands of a famous musician, and near of himself. He longed to touch the instrument, to get to know it, to caress and coax the first gentle tones out of it.

But behind him his Lord was working and it would've been terribly unkind to start playing and disrupt his concentration. So he only stepped up to the Zythern and laid his hand on the keys, feeling the smooth crystals and strong metals and wishing he could hear the soul of this instrument. Surely, it was beautiful.

"Do you enjoy this instrument?" suddenly came a voice just a bit from behind him.

Jazz startled. "My Lord," he said, trying to hide his scare. "I hadn't heard you."

The servants had whispered in the hallways that the Lord could be quiet as a ghost, but he hadn't taken it very seriously until now. His Lord looked at him impassively. "Mechs rarely hear me or anyone else when they're as deep in thought as you were, Jazz," Lord Prowl said, but if it was in disdain or not, Jazz couldn't say. "Can you play the Zythern?"

"I'm no maestro, but I do know how to play it, yes."

"A worthy skill," praised his Lord and turned, walking back to the couches. Jazz stared after him, looking at the relaxed wings, unsure what to say.

As Lord Prowl sat down on the couches, he looked up, wings twitching. "Will you play for me, Jazz?"

For a long moment, Jazz was sure that he had heard wrong, but as the words in his processor didn't change even at the third examination he had to accept reality – with a deeper than necessary bow and a genuine smile: "I would be honored, my Lord Prowl."

"No, the honor is mine," answered his Lord with a glance at his unfinished datapads. He took them and subspaced them.

Meanwhile, Jazz sat down in the small hard chair front of the large instrument, and laid his hands on the keys, trying to calm his sudden excitement. It was just him and an instrument whose siblings he had played thousands of times before. There was no reason to be afraid – besides the fact that Lord Prowl was watching and judging, his cold blue optics checking over every chink in his armor.

He needed to concentrate. His forced himself to ignore the world, the unfamiliar rooms and even his Lord and focused on the shining crystal keys – he pressed a key, a high note and the song began and the world fell away.

Music was Jazz's true element. He was a social mech, amiable and loving small talk, but nothing came close to the feelings of warmth and freedom music gifted him with. The music swirled around him, inside him, over him, the notes a gentle guide to new and familiar highs. Soon, he had shuttered his optics and played, only the music and he remaining in perfect harmony.

Something touched him at the shoulder.

He flinched back, the music dying in an undignified howl.

His Lord was standing beside him, face cold and unreadable as always. "We need to get ready for the celebrations," he said. "The servants are already waiting."

He spoke true. The chronometre showed that nearly a joor had passed in a timespan that felt like a a breem and the four servants they had brought stood next to the door.

"Oh," he hastily stood up. "Of course. We should hurry."

His Lord shook his head. "We still have enough time." He winked the servants. "Please make sure that my Consort is well taken care of in the bath."

Bath? The servants opened a previously hidden door for him and he went after them, wondering whether Lord Prowl would join him to get clean or wait. The former wasn't uncommon among oath sworn couples, but then regular interfacing was also common amongst them.

The bath was also a bit larger than the one he had just for himself at the Palaise, with fine soaps from Tarn, expensive perfumes from Typhern, and soft sponges from the Rust Sea. It had all he could wish for, and as the warm solvent dripped down on his silvery armor he couldn't help but sigh in contentment. Around him, the two servants started to polish his already well-cared armor, bringing its shine to new highs. As he gave himself over to the tender and exacting care of the servants, he decided that Lord Prowl would probably wait until he was finished.

In this aspect, he was right.

Yet as his thoughts drifted, he couldn't help but note that his Lord hadn't commented on his play with a single word. He had thought himself a decent player, but maybe his teacher had overestimated his skills to please him? Also, just as likely, his Lord hadn't liked the chosen aria or didn't like music as a whole. After all, his Lord was not known as a sponsor of music and art festivals. But then why would he ask Jazz to show his art? He was aware that he was overanalyzing things, but he couldn't help it. Music was an integral part of him and to imagine that his Lord showed interest in that part of him... that was nearly a truth too good to be true.

It would make everything else worth it.

The servants etched his armor with white glyphs of honor, prosperity, his rank and House, turning them from a mere declaration into an image of beauty.

As he stepped out of the bath, ready to choose his garment, his Lord gave him a look. It was long and intense and for a moment in made Jazz's step falter...

Then his Lord entered the bathroom and the doors closed.

He chose a white robe that took care to show every single one of his traditional glyphs, and which flowed gently down behind him in a see-through veil. The garments hid nothing, but then that had never been their purpose.

When his Lord was ready, and came to the main room, he was vent-stutteringly handsome. His armor gleamed and the black patches seemed to swallow the light. Only a few new glyphs adorned him; at the center of his chest and above his spark was the glyph of the House of Praxus and next to it were the glyphs that proclaimed his House virtues: Always striving.

Rarely had a virtue fit a mech as well as the Praxian Lord, was said by many.

Below that was a set of glyphs Jazz had never seen on his Lord before, yet were so familiar he barely needed a glance to read them: Oath sworn to Consort Jazz of the House of Praxus.

It made Jazz involuntarily smile. His Lord was his. Now and until they bonded or dissolved the oath. His. And every guest would know it.

It shouldn't make him as satisfied as he felt.

"You look splendid this orn, my Lord," he said instead and meant it.

His Lord studied him, optics brightening a bit. "Then I have hope not to be outshone by my Consort this celebration."

For a moment, Jazz was stunned by the uncharacteristic compliment of his Lord, but then his cheeky nature took over: "How can the Consort outshine the Lord, when he's supposed to be the jewel adorning and complementing the Lord in all matters?"

"Some Consorts can," answered Lord Prowl. "Servants! My garments!"

The little exchange was over and Jazz could only sit and watch as Prowl was fitted with the traditional cape of the lords. Every cape was an exact telling of the lord's oaths and who he owned fealty to. The more colorful the cape, the more lords were above and the lesser the standing.

Lord Prowl's cape only held two colors. The cape was dyed in the deep blue of Praxus' color which was on every coat of arms, every shield and every cape of the Houses that lived beneath its banner. The edge of the cape, though, was pure golden thread, the color of the Prime whom Lord Prowl served.

Jazz had seen the Prime only once before. He had been standing in the priest's place to take their oath nearly a vorn ago. He had been big and impressive and Jazz had shivered beneath his stare that had just seemed all-knowing. Lord Prowl, though, had been calm, and later at the feast had argued about a trading post with him. Argued. With the Prime!

It had been during that calm and friendly argument that he had learned more about his Lord than ever before or after. Maybe that had been the moment when he had fallen in love as his Lord Prowl had managed to outshine and defeat the Prime himself in an argument.

Over the long vorn that had followed after, the memory had also become tinged with regret. Lord Prowl had seemed so alive then, so animated. If only Jazz had said anything, contributed, maybe he would've been of more interest.

"That's enough," said his Lord and walked away from the servants. He looked impressive, despite the fact that the traditional weapon was missing. It was impolite to bring a weapon into your host's House, especially for a joyful celebration. Lord Prowl's (and in turn Praxus') weapon was the lance.

"Jazz." Lord Prowl offered his arm, and Jazz took it, entwining their arms.

Together they walked from the room, down the stairs and to the ballroom in which the main part of the celebration was to take place. They were several breems late, but Jazz was very aware of the notion of being fashionably late. It was a subtle show of power, while at the same time it guaranteed a grand entrance. As a Grand Duke, Lord Prowl was probably never even expected to be on time.


	2. Chapter 2

Radish

"The celebration": Part Two

In front of the grand bronze doors to the ballroom, two huge guards stood with a banner of the Barons, crossing it in front of the door so that everyone had to ask for entrance. The banner showed many colours, and at its center, the crest displayed three light-blue crystals.

"Who goes there?" asked the right guard, without a doubt a member of the warrior caste.

"Lord Prowl, Grand Duke of Praxus and its territories, Knight of the Primesguard, Protector of the East, brother by spark to the Winglord Starscream. By my side is my beloved Consort Jazz, creation of the Count of Helex Garden. In our names, open the door!"

It was always impressive to hear Lord Prowl's title – especially knowing that this was the shortened version.

"As you command, my Lord," said both guards and bowed deeply.

At a hidden command, the doors opened to the inside slowly, and the two guards marched side by side in front of them. After three steps, they stepped aside, opening the view to the ballroom. They were on top of a small stairwell, the ball music was dying and every mech was looking at them.

"LORD PROWL," announced the guards loudly and repeated the same titles given. When they were finished, the guards left, closing the doors behind them.

Softly, with a sweet whine, the instruments picked up their pace again, playing a lovely and well-known dancing song. Within astroseconds, couples had moved into the middle of the ballroom and were twirling and swinging around. Jazz didn't look at them, knowing that all he would feel for them was envy. Lord Prowl would never dance for fun with him and even the standard dances they had shared at their oath night had seemed to be unusually difficult for the Praxian Lord.

His Lord was talented in many things, but dancing was definitely not one of them. It was a pity as Jazz himself was a marvelous dancer, and that was just a matter of fact statement after having won several of the competitions organized for entertainment in Polyhex. In the past, he had been courted just for his dancing skills despite that the compatibility ratings had been below average for most. Thankfully, his creators and House had the wisdom to make it public that he wouldn't consider anything seriously with anyone below a compatibility of 75 points. It was still considered a low threshold, but for Jazz it had proven nearly too high.

Lord Prowl led him to the table which held mountains of sweets and energon and other things to eat. It was a good-sized buffet, not overly big but with quality food. He turned to his Lord to ask if he could bring him anything, and saw that Lord Prowl was already compiling a plate.

For a moment unsure what to do, as normally it was the right and honor of a Consort to give their Lord the food, he just watched his Lord. It shouldn't distress him, he knew; Lord Prowl wasn't prone to think of the more subtle social etiquettes. Yet it somehow hurt, and it burned even more through the fact that no doubt at least a few nobles were observing this. By tomorrow, the whole realm would probably know that he was failing in his duties.

"Lord Prowl," he said quietly. "The plate..."

His Lord straightened and looked at him out of cool blue optics. "Is there anything you especially wish for?" He made a gesture at the buffet.

That he wished for? Jazz stared at his Lord, than at the table full of food in all imaginable variants. In the middle of the table he saw small yellow cakes, a rarity in this sector of Cybertron but quite common in Polyhex. A tinge of homesickness permeated his spark as it did occasionally, but he took care to hide it. No sense in showing that he might be less than happy in Praxus, it wouldn't fit his station to be weak-willed.

"Those tarts, my Lord. They're lovely and a specialty of my former House."

His Lord nodded. "As you wish," and loaded the tarts on the already overflowing plate. "Let's go."

Unresisting, he followed his Lord to one of the small tables at the side. What had just happened? Surely his Lord wasn't serving him. That was... well, not improper, but a sign of devotion of the Lord to his Consort. Was his Lord really regarding him this highly? Or had he just underestimated how aware his Lord was of the scrutiny the other nobles placed on them? Whatever the case, he wasn't failing in this duties and the gossip would be positive in his case. More, he couldn't expect.

At the table, a pretty elegant white thing that no doubt had been exclusively designed for this celebration, his Lord placed the plate between them.

"Eat," his Lord commanded.

Jazz looked at the sweets and without hesitation chose the yellow tarts. A bite, and he nearly melted in delight. It was soft and sweet and filled with the right amount of sour crystal dust. They were just as good as he remembered them. Maybe they were even imported from Polyhex. No matter what, he decided, he would have to compliment the Barons on this.

As he swallowed the last bit of the tart, he saw that his Lord was attentively observing the dancers on the floor. Jazz followed his gaze, knowing that who was dancing with whom was always a lot more informative than conversations. Yet, as his optics sprang from one dancer to the next, he realized that he barely knew these mechs. At his House, he would've been able to tell by the tapping of the pedes, the bends of their heads, the sharpness of their smiles how they really felt. Here, he was still a stranger after a whole vorn. And why wouldn't he be? It wasn't as if his Lord frequented their parties. Was he even invited?

He locked his sorrows deep inside of him, and took another tart. At least he was here now. Time to make the best of it. Slowly, he started to catalogue the dancers, to fit faces and names and reputations together until the mass of nobles became groups of individuals.

It was interesting that all three heirs of the House of Silversky were talking with someone associated to the House of Radiance. Both were Houses were led by Counts that were sworn to his own Lord, yet it was suspicious. Were they seeking an alliance? Trade agreement? Or something more?

He mentioned his observation to his Lord, who gave him an indefinable look, and then a respectful nod.

"You're quite correct, my Consort." Jazz could nearly feel the praise that this one single word contained. "Their territories are next to each other and a long friendship connects the two Houses since the Brother Battles centuries ago. They're seeking to unite the Houses through a bonding, yet so far no compatibility has been achieved." His doorwings flickered, a sign of interest, as Jazz knew. "Maybe this has changed."

"To unite two whole territories belonging to Counts would mean a substantial power shift," Jazz pointed out. What he didn't say was, do you want this? And if not - what are you prepared to do to prevent this? Officially, no noble could forbid or force a bonding of any other being. A spark was free to choose, no matter its station. That was the decree of Primes. But there were other ways, less savory or honorable; but they were there and Jazz wasn't fool enough to believe that his Lord didn't know or hadn't employed them when it was called for.

"Fortunately, they're only to minor Counts and I would actually welcome their joining. Already they agree on nearly all matters and where one House goes, the other closely follows," answered his Lord.

On their right, a servant who had been inconspicuous until now hastily scurried away. No doubt to inform his masters the Barons - who would probably inform the Counts for a small boon. Jazz smiled and relaxed, for once not missing his home. Their politics had been much livelier, but also they had included much more backstabbing. Their Grand Duke would've never accepted such a joining without intervention. He couldn't have, as his position wasn't nearly as secured as Lord Prowl's.

"Truly," said Jazz, "if they achieve their long-awaited joining, we should show them our appreciation."

Interested, his Lord Prowl turned fully towards him, for the first time abandoning the room completely. "Why?"

Such a simple question and yet... Jazz nearly smiled. "To show that my Lord approves."

Lord Prowl seemed to contemplate it for a moment, then he nodded. "It would be good for stability."

"And loyalty," Jazz quietly pointed out.

"That too." But the tone his Lord used implied that loyalty was of minor concern to him. And it probably was. No one would dare to challenge a Grand Duke that had brought prosperity to all and of whom it was known that he barely indulged himself.

The only thing his Lord had needlessly indulged on, Jazz suddenly realized, had been his Consort. After all, his stipend had been more than just sizeable. It wouldn't be a surprise if he had spent many times the amount on himself that his Lord had.

It made his internal unease stronger.

Again he reached for a tart, only to discover that he had already eaten them all.

"If you wish for more, I could fetch some for you," offered his Lord.

"Thank you, my Lord, but this is quite unnecessary." He would not degrade his Lord to a lowly servant position.

"Then at least try from the other sweets."

The plate was indeed still full. His Lord hadn't eaten anything from it. After some contemplation, he choose an electric blue bonbon. "Don't you wish to eat as well, my Lord?"

A denying slant of the elegant doorwings. "I'm afraid that while the cuisine is excellent, the taste is not to my liking."

Curious. As far as Jazz could see there were treats from all over Cybertron, and not all of them were sweet either.

"How unfortunate for you, my Lord," he said and enjoyed his bonbon.

"I'm used to it," was the cool answer. "It's time for me to mingle." He gave his Consort a short look. "Please do the same. Our presence here has been noted and looked forward to."

He bowed his head lightly, showing he had understood the subtle order. "Of course, my Lord."

As the doorwings of his Lord vanished into the moving and chattering crowd, he looked around in anticipation. To mingle could mean many things. He could go talking, or - he looked at the dance floor - dancing. He liked both activities, but only one was his passion.

He swallowed the sweet and moved forward along the tables, looking for a suitable dance partner.

At the tables stood mostly the already bonded, the elderly or the isolated. But between them lingered also those that were looking to expand their social network, the unmated and those that were seeking a break between dances.

Jazz in the end chose a middle-aged mech that didn't bear the glyphs of any mate or bonding, but who had the signs of a high-ranking noble. He would make a good start. Jazz stopped in front of him, and acknowledged the rank of the other mech with a slight nod of his helmet, saying:

"Sir, I would be delighted if you were inclined to share a dance with me."

The mech looked surprised, at first obviously not able to place his appearance, but as he discovered Lord Prowl's glyphs on him, he nodded eagerly. "Of course, my Lord Consort. It would be an honor."

Jazz smiled politely and offered the upper side of his arm, the inside of his hand showing to the floor. The mech laid his arm on his and he led him to the dance floor. The orchestra was playing an easy song, which Jazz had no difficulty at all following. His dance partner wasn't as agile, but he managed well enough.

"If I am not mistaken, you're the Duke of the House of Irongreen?" he asked.

"You're not mistaken, my Lord Consort," answered the mech politely. "I have been the Duke of my House since my creators, Primus bless them, passed away through sickness."

"My condolences," assured Jazz quickly. "I hope the transition on top of your grief wasn't too burdensome."

"It was a difficult vorn," admitted the noble slowly. "But my siblings stood with me and it all went as well as could be expected. Also thanks to Lord Prowl, he left no doubt at all that I inherited the title together with all of the fortune. He also took care that all my siblings got respectable jobs."

Jazz didn't doubt for an astrosecond that the Lord mentioned this to assure him of his loyalty and thankfulness to Lord Prowl. But it also sounded true and like something his Lord would do. Why invite conflict if it could be prevented by the simple fact that no one was left out in the cold and impoverished?

"I hope your siblings are all happy with their new places in life."

"Some more than others," admitted the noble with a slow smile. "But they all are leading good lives."

"I'm glad to hear that." And he was. Especially as just a glance at his own House gave plenty of examples how it could also go wrong. "I'm sure that if any of your siblings are truly unhappy, my Lord would try to find them another place."

It was a lot to promise. But also something he felt confident in doing as he knew his Lord would try. The noble looked startled for a moment, and then nodded - deeper than before. "Thank you, Lord Consort. I don't think it will be necessary, but it's good to know that my siblings have this option."

Slowly, the music changed its measure and Jazz led the Duke from the dance floor and took his leave with all the proper phrases. The next one he chose was a young femme from another Baron's house. Silverdart was of no obvious importance - in fact she was not a first heir, so what prompted him in choosing her was the question why she was here at all. Her face alone as she realized just who was leading her to the dance floor had been worth his decision.

But his suspicions also proved true. She turned out to be a quick-thinking femme that had a peculiar humor, and quite the problem. Or rather her House had a problem. The first heir was - there was barely a polite way to say it - stupid. Not only had he no gift with people, he also had developed more troubling vices over the past vorns. The femme wouldn't go into it, loyalty to her sibling prevented her, but for Jazz it was obvious that she had been sent to the celebration to try to smooth over any mistakes her sibling might make. Maybe her creators were even setting her up as a shadow Baron, she wouldn't be the first to direct a county from behind the throne.

Still, Jazz was aware that such a situation wouldn't please his Lord at all. Provided that the femme wasn't using him in a ploy to become Baron, his Lord would have to act on this situation.

The third dance was gifted to an elderly mech that smiled in obvious amusement at the offer. It was the most enjoyable dance by far as his partner displayed previously hidden skills and they both avoided the political in their talk. Only when they left the dance floor did the mech smile at him and say:

"Lord Prowl has chosen well in you, Lord Consort. As expected of him."

Jazz blinked in surprise. "Thank you."

He had thought the mech an unimportant noble as his glyphs barely gave him an important title, but now he wondered if maybe the mech had held or was holding an important rank in an organization. It was too late to ask. But he made a note of it.

And so, dance for dance, talk for talk, Jazz was slowly learning more about the nobles and getting to know them. Many gave him little tidbits on his way, things they wouldn't dare to speak to his Lord about as they were too insignificant but which together painted the picture of how the nobility as a whole perceived the Grand Duke of Praxus, the Lord of the House of Crystal Lance.

Mentally exhausted but satisfied, Jazz finally left the dance floor after some joors in search of his Lord. He found trouble sooner. Near the wall a group of young mechs, well they were his own age actually, were shouting things at one another. As he came nearer, he could make out two groups.

One group was crowding around an incredibly drunken mech that smirked, full of confidence, at his opponents. Said opponents were a bigger group, but not organized in any way. Instead, they all stared with outrage and disbelief at the mech.

Uncertain what was happening, Jazz stayed close to the wall and tried to seem as unimportant as all the others in the offended group. He had the right age and as long nobody would look too closely at his glyphs or recognize his face, he hoped he would be able to listen.

"Lord Prowl is a freaking drone, I said," laughed the drunken mech. "Do you want another repeat? Yes? 'Cause he is one and you know it. He has no feelings and all he ever talks about his numbers this, numbers that. And we're sworn to such an empty hull! Primus, I wouldn't even let him drink from my cube, much less give my life to him!"

Jazz blinked in astonishment at those words, and he wasn't the only one.

"That's treason," another noble said, his words a dark warning. Jazz felt the warning echo in his spark and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to make it true - but Polyhex had taught him many things, among them the matter of timing.

"Treason! Blah! As if you can betray a drone."

The mech laughed, his optics lightening up erratically. Jazz took note of this as it was not a common side effect of highgrade. Maybe the mech wasn't drunk after all, but drugged. Not that this would save him in any way. Keeping his righteous anger cold and controlled, he searched for the glyphs that would betray the House of the mech.

"Lord Prowl isn't a drone!" argued another mech, who was stunning in his beauty.

"And I guess you can swear that? Have you seen his spark? Have you?" challenged the drunken noble. He was the first heir of a minor House, which glyphs Jazz now saw for the second time this orn. So the femme he had danced with earlier had told the truth - her sibling was not fit to lead a House.

"I do not need to see if someone has a spark when he does his utmost to lead as well," said a femme curtly. "If you will not die for him, I would." She narrowed her optics. "I would also kill all and any traitors on his command. And maybe without."

A bit away, the femme he had danced earlier with was hurrying towards them. Silverdart's optics were wide as she took in the scene in front of her.

"Tz, loyalty to that mech will lead you nowhere," the drugged noble sneered, voice dripping with disdain. "Only a mech can lead mechs, not a drone." He chuckled suddenly. "I guess his new Consort doesn't have many berth duties - or if he does, he probably has a kink for drones."

The mechs around them gasped.

The burning cold anger he had felt until now on his Lord's behalf erupted into hot rage. But before he could do anything, Silverdart had reached their group and stopped next to her sibling:

"Lightstep, what are you doing?" she hissed, obviously horrified at his last words.

"Sibling of my spark," he said formally, but his leer wasn't. "Just telling the truth to these nice mechs." He pointed at the considerable group and Silverdart automatically followed his hand - and saw Jazz.

"Oh Primus," she whispered in despair. "Lord Consort..."

Like one mech, the other onlookers turned to look at the unassuming mech near the wall, whose face resembled stone, but in whose optics danced nothing but rage.

"Hello, Silverdart," he said quietly and stepped forward. He didn't need to speak aloud, as by now the noise around them had dropped away into nothing. "I admit that I enjoyed the dance with you far more than listening to your sibling."

Lightstep stared at him, then at his sister, not yet fully comprehending what was happening. His sister was faster. She dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor.

"Lord Consort, please, he doesn't mean it. Our House doesn't mean it!"

He stopped in front of her, his pedes centimeters away from her helmet. Coolly, he looked down at her, then at Lightstep, who still stared dumbly at him.

"Really?" he said. "Your first heir has been slandering my Lord several times in the short time I was here to listen; no doubt he has done so far more often than this. Do you deny this?"

It was impossible to deny it. They all knew it. There were dozens of witnesses, among them Jazz himself.

"No," said Silverdart defeated. "But please, he isn't in his right processor."

"That I believe." He pressed his lips together, and with a quick movement grabbed Lightstep's chin. The optics were of different sizes and color. "He's not drunk, but drugged," he confirmed his first assumption. Disgusted, he let go of Lightstep. "A drugged first heir at a bonding celebration. Are you saying that this is your excuse?"

Silverdart shivered, fully aware what the anger of a Grand Duke could unleash. Would unleash on the word of his Consort. "No," she said quietly. "But please believe me that he isn't a general example of our House."

"I dearly hope so. Drugged, treacherous and stupid? Your House would eliminate itself with mechs such as him."

"Hey!" Lightstep said, finally overcoming his stupor. "I'm not stupid!"

The silence which his words were greeted was absolute.

"But treacherous?" Jazz asked softly, nearly lovingly. He left no time that any mech might answer. "As I'm just the Consort, I have no power to decide. This is the only mercy Primus is granting you, I assure you. My Lord will hear of this in length and in detail." He looked at Lightstep and then at Silverdart. "And then we will see if this thing is a general example of the House Seedgrow or not." He smiled coldly. "After all, treason has always been paid in energon and sparks."

He said nothing more as he turned and walked away. Mechs parted in front of him; whether in fear or in respect, he didn't care. Sometimes, they were the same.

He called a servant to him, who nearly stumbled over his own pedes to help him. "Servant, tell me, do you know where my Lord resides?"

The servant hastily rattled off the answer that he had seen Grand Duke Prowl on the balconies talking to other nobles. Jazz thanked him and hurried to the balconies that overlooked the whole ballroom from above. Had his Lord seen the small confrontation?

The balconies were lavish with luxury. Only the more important nobles had places reserved for them here. Jazz had known that for his Lord and him a hidden private balcony had been prepared, but so far he hadn't seen any need to use it. Now, he walked directly towards it and knocked.

"My Lord?" he asked. Even as a Consort, it wasn't polite to simply barge into a room your Lord occupied without any warning beforehand. Sometimes there were meetings, sometimes there were things happening of a more private nature. Such incidents had been known to ruin some oath sworn couples and to lead to divorce.

"My Consort, you can come in."

It was the third time his Lord had called him that, and the former two times it had been in praise. Was it this time just propriety or praise again? Jazz entered the balcony and first greeted his Lord with a small acknowledgement of his head, then the Duke that sat across from him.

"My Lord, I'm afraid that I bring news that do not fit to the general mood of this celebration," he began carefully.

His Lord nodded. "I've watched from here, though the distance was too great to listen. Tell me, what did the young spark of House Seedgrow say?"

"Word for word?" asked Jazz, reluctant to repeat the foul words that dirtied his Lord's and his own honor.

"Please," said his Lord mildly, instead of ordering it.

Jazz could back out if he was too uncomfortable, but he plunged on, knowing how important a detailed recount was to Lord Prowl.

By the time he finished, the Duke at the table had blanched and Lord Prowl was leaning back in his chair without obvious signs of anger. "You've reacted appropriately," he said and Jazz relaxed considerably. "Lightstep's words have no excuse and that he was drugged only makes it worse. He's not fit to lead a House, nor is he fit as a first heir." The optics grew colder. "In fact, he isn't fit to be one of my nobles at all." He looked over the balcony at the celebration below. "Yet, this is an orn of joy and I'm loath to interrupt it with an execution. It certainly wouldn't bring luck to the Barons."

Silence settled over the balcony until Jazz realized that his Lord was waiting for suggestions from him. He suppressed his desire to shuffle his pedes. "Maybe we can summon the soldiers and let them take him away."

"Possible."

Again silence. Another suggestion? If he wished for it. "We can also not execute him, and simply declare him dead."

This time, Lord Prowl looked up from the celebrations in interest. "What a devious suggestion," he said and smiled slowly. "We'll treat it as if he has died. His holdings and fortune shall fall to the second heir, Silverdart, while his House is allowed to mourn - and to prove that he was a singularity. Meanwhile, Lightstep will not be able to possess money, property or anything at all in Praxus. He will live on the goodwill of his House or leave." He looked at the Duke across from him. "I know I summoned you to talk about the finer points of the trade agreement with Iacon, but as I'm needed here at this celebration I would consider it a small favor if you see this done, Duke Farreach."

The Duke stood and bowed very low, honored to be trusted such an important task by his Lord. "As you command, your Highness."

He left the balcony and Jazz took his seat. From here, the dancing mechs in the ballroom looked insignificant. In silence, they watched as warframes entered the hall quietly and singled out the first heir of Seedgrow. Silverdart next to him did nothing, even as an elderly mech seemed to plead - and then give up as the soldiers replied without a doubt from whom the order had come.

"What do you think of Silverdart?" asked Lord Prowl as Lightstep was pressed against the wall and shackled. "You mentioned dancing with her."

"That I did. She's very sharp and very good at entertaining mechs. I can't say how loyal she is though," he confessed. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

"No need to be. That's what I have my agents for." Beneath them, Lightstep had started screaming and by now everyone had noticed what was happening. The nobles, though, only watched in silence. "House Seedgrow will be under observation for quite some time."

On the side, the Barons hurried along, distress on their faces. Jazz felt sorry for them as they deserved a perfect celebration. The elderly mech he had danced with previously stopped the Barons and calmed them with just a few words. Again, he wondered who that was.

"Certainly a good decision," Jazz said quietly. One of the soldiers knocked the heir out with an electro baton, not a deadly weapon by far, but one that hurt like the pit. Jazz, who went through basic defensive training as any heir in Polyhex, could testify to that. He only felt satisfaction when Lightstep crumpled. "Are many of my Lord's Houses under observation?"

"Many is relative. By my information, I have far less Houses to be wary of than most Grand Dukes."

As expected. "Most mechs I talked with were very loyal to the Lord of Praxus," he confirmed.

"I'm glad to hear that," answered his Lord and Jazz had suddenly the feeling that this wasn't just a phrase, but that his Lord was truly glad as he had worked hard for this.

The rest of the first orn of the celebration passed quietly in the balcony, receiving a steady flow of visitors with problems big and small. The most notable visitors had been the two Barons who apologized profoundly for the slight at the Grand Duke and his Consort that happened beneath their roof.

Lord Prowl accepted the apologies stoically, while Jazz offered their regrets that this had to happen. To calm their frayed nerves, he also assured the Barons that they really weren't angry at them and that yes, the rest of the celebration so far had been enjoyable. As an example, he mentioned the yellow tarts and both Barons readily explained to him the origin of their cook from Polyhex and that the cook would certainly love to make more tarts for the Consort.

At this point, Lord Prowl entered the discussion and offered to buy a steady supply of those tarts every vorn at a very high price. All the nobles in the balcony knew that the price was overstated, but as the Lord offered, the Barons accepted. It would certainly help to manage their House in the future as it wasn't very big.

Jazz contemplated afterwards if that was Lord Prowl's way to reward and apologize to the Barons or to give Jazz a gift. Probably both, Lord Prowl liked efficiency.

Uploaded the Prequel 'The medic' as well, if anyone wants to know more about Prowl. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Zeth: Thanks for the review. About your question of timeframes, it's a good one. Usually I go with 83 Earth years = 1 vorn too, but I have noticed that while this works relatively well to depict time in itself, if you write about relationships it doesn't really work. Because for us humans 83 years to do nothing would be unimagineable. But in canon there are several instances were mechs haven't talked to each other for far longer (for example in IDW Megatron says that there were several thousands of years breacks during the war were both sides did nothing but restocking) and no one thought it unusual. In conclusion, TFs treat the passing of time differently, and why shouldn't they when they live far far longer?

But this is an AU verse that has many more human elements than the original canon verses. It feels strange to us to apply this alien time concept on a relationship that essentially is written with human emotions. Still, I didn't want to become even more earth-like by using year / month, and the other canon time frames all appeared shorter. My only alternative was quartex, I think. In the end I decided to go with 'vorn' anyway as a "long" enough timeframe that Jazz would reasonably have expected more. But one thing is clear in this universe, 1 vorn is not 1/80th of their life expectancy. They can become a lot older.

* * *

><p>Radishes<p>

"The Celebration": Part Three

Slowly, the ball neared its end. The nobles that lived closer left the party in their carriages while those that stayed returned to their appointed rooms. Jazz found himself with Lord Prowl back in their apartment. Both were cleaned in the bath by their servants and Jazz couldn't help but remember what laid beyond the wall - the bed.

The single bed for them both.

Would Lord Prowl expect an interface? Cuddling? Or nothing? He didn't know. It was ridiculous. Their oath orn had been nearly a vorn ago and yet he was nearly as nervous now as their first night then. Which probably wasn't such a surprise - this could be their second night together. Jazz wished he had thought to bring his jewels meant exclusively for the berth chamber. But he hadn't and so he could only hope his Lord thought his natural frame attractive. He shuttered his optics and tried to imagine the night, while he stood beneath the solvent. The soft strokes of his servants with the sponge along his frame, helped to imagine it... his Lord would be careful, but determined. Gentle, but firm. Loving, but not sappy. He felt his frame grow warm and knew that these were nice wishes.

But reality would look different. The last time, his Lord had been less than this nice little fantasy. Far too soon, he had to leave his shower and was dried and cared for by the servants. And then, suddenly, he was with them and his Lord in the living room and the servants bowed and left. They were alone. Without a word, his Lord walked back to the small table on which the datapads were and started to look them over again. Jazz was unsure what to do. Should he just go to the berth alone already? Or wait for his Lord? He would never admit it, but he was a bit afraid. Lord Prowl was at best very difficult to read and now he could've competed with a Praxian crystal for expressivity and the crystal would've won.

"Jazz," said his Lord suddenly. "Would you play for me again?"

Had his Lord really just asked... yes, he had. "Of course!"

Relieved and very happy to be able to do what he loved most, while being able to satisfy his Lord at the same time, he sat himself at the Zyphern and began to play. With the first few notes, he had forgotten why he had worried and as the song progressed, he forgot everything else as well. Cybertronian songs tended to last a long time, but even they had to end at some point. On the last note, he stared at the Zyphern as if a dream had ended and then slowly looked up, searching for his Lord.

Lord Prowl stood with his back against the couch, arms crossed, intently watching him. As his optics caught Jazz's he nodded slightly: "You're no maester yet, Jazz, but with the skill you just showed you could be one if you put your mind on it."

"High praise, my Lord." He stood and bowed. "I'm honored." Maester were the leaders of the music academies and it was said that when one true maester played, Cybertron wept. They usually were trained from sparklinghood, when one of the relentless talent scouts discovered the potential in a commoner. Such a discovery was always a good thing, as it offered the opportunity to attend the finest education establishments on Cybertron and meant a comfortable life later on. Jazz had never met a talent scout as nobles already had their role in life defined for them. Still, sometimes he had dreamed of offering himself completely to music and so his Lord's praise might mean more to him than Lord Prowl had intended. "True praise," corrected his Lord curtly. "I'm pleased that the expenses for your musical teachers didn't go to waste."

Jazz flinched and his good feeling evaporated instantly. So his Lord had monitored him. It had been a test? Had he failed? "I'm deeply sorry, if my stipend was intended for something else or if I used too much money. Please forgive this slight, my Lord. I didn't intend to offend you." Or disappoint.

For a long moment his Lord only stared at him, then he slowly shook his head. "You didn't offend me, my Consort. The money was yours and yours alone to spend. I'm just pleased that you chose to spend it on learning and improving yourself."

Jazz blinked as he slowly realized that he had, once again, read more into the words of his Lord than his Lord had meant. He suspected he would need many more vorns to get used to the fact that Lord Prowl didn't hide meanings between phrases and sentences as it was so common and even expected among Polyhexian nobles. No, Lord Prowl was direct to a fault.

"I then apologize for misreading your words," Jazz said and then, because he had to know, asked: "It would please my Lord if I delve deeper into my musical studies?"

While musical skill was respected among nobles, it wasn't considered appropriate to pursue it all too much. After all, nobility in itself was seen as a profession and calling, why search for something else? And Jazz hadn't searched after maturing, knowing that his creators frowned upon his enthusiasm and tendency to lose himself in the music. But maybe, just maybe, hopefully his Lord would approve. Just a bit. It would be enough.

"If it pleases you," said his Lord slowly, using the archaic words of bondmates-to-be, glyphs full of mine and ours and we that he had last heard during the oath ceremony a vorn ago. "Then it pleases me."

A breem before, Jazz wouldn't have thought that those old words had any effect on him. At the ceremony, they had certainly rang hollow. But now that he had heard the glyphs, full of ancient promise and intent and possibility, he couldn't help but smile and feel warmer than he had since leaving his House. Maybe there was hope for more than simple acceptance and respect.

"You're allowing me to pursue my training?" he asked, just to be sure. Just to hear it again.

"Yes." His Lord's voice left no uncertainties. "And if your skill rises, you can search for better teachers, until the maester of Praxus himself gives you his time."

It was more than he had dreamed of and more than expected.

This mech in front of him, this cold and icy Lord, could possibly be his future bondmate. For the first time this knowledge became more than a contract and an oath of loyalty. Instead, maybe, it was something to be truly desired.

He smiled sincerely at his Lord and though he didn't know it, in that moment he was beautiful. "I'll try my best to become worthy of the maester's attention."

"Good." His Lord's face softened a bit. "It seems you're far more knowledgeable in the Arts than I."

"Not all arts, my Lord," answered Jazz modestly. Reflexively, it didn't sit well with him that a Grand Duke admitted fault. "Just music and a few others."

Something that in any other mech would've been a smile crossed his Lord's face. With Lord Prowl it was more of a twitch. "I do read the reports on your expenses, my Consort, and I also remember the report I received after we were proven compatible. You visit galleries regularly, you tried yourself at painting and you're exceptional at dancing – something which I and every other noble could witness today. Further, your singing voice is more than just acceptable and you're well read."

Jazz became increasingly embarrassed as his Lord listed his accomplishments that weren't anything special. "Every Polyhex noble does or can to do most of these things. It's part of our education."

"Maybe. But most choose one field to become passable in, while you became passable in all and good to very good in most. I have no doubt that your spark has Talent."

The glyph of talent was the one used for sparkdeep talent that mechs believed was a gift from Primus himself. At home it would've been unimaginable that any noble had a Talent. To be a noble was already all Talent you could have. That now Lord Prowl held him in such a high esteem robbed him of his words.

"I have long decided to nurture Talent of any kind and shape," continued his Lord. "And your Talent I wish to see blossom, my Consort." He stepped towards Jazz. "But it's late now. Let us retire into the berth chamber. On the morrow we're expected to break the fast with our hosts and later to take part in the feast."

Jazz's spark fluttered, but if from the praise or at the mention of the berth chamber he didn't know. He felt lighter than in a very long time. "As you wish, my Lord."

His Lord touched him at the arm and Jazz automatically rotated his arm until his palm laid on the palm of his Lord. It was as an intimate contact two nobles could display in public and it was reserved for lovers, oath mates and, of course, bondmates.

Together they walked back to the chamber, which received them with dim light and tasteful decoration, looking no different from the first time Jazz had entered it. Yet, now the shadows held dark secrets and light whispers.

Their garments already removed by the servants, there was nothing to do but to lie down. The mesh was soft as expected, and temperated exactly right. Next to him the berth moved as his Lord joined, his warm wing barely a hand length away from him.

Jazz waited.

Time dripped away slowly with the consistency of sweet dough. Yet his Lord didn't move anymore and after a small eternity Jazz had to accept that his Lord was recharging. Relief warred with disappointment and he sighed.

Nothing had happened. Were they destined to a relationship that had nothing beyond formal words?

He turned to his Lord and suddenly felt daring. Gently, he raised a hand and touched the openly displayed doorwing next to him. It was unexpectedly rough, not at all the smooth surface they appeared to be from afar. Smiling at the discovery and the fact that his Lord wasn't reacting, he became braver and followed the pattern of glyphs and miniscule scars on the doorwing from battles and wounds long past.

Even though the age difference between them was not very considerable in their long-lived race's terms, Jazz had wondered if his Lord saw him as inexperienced. When Jazz had been sparked, Lord Prowl had been just finishing his first war campaign very successfully and through it cemented his rule even further. Not all mechs could be quietened by prosperity and wealth, but those few had proven to very able at respecting the might of Lord Prowl's lance.

It was easy to forget that Lord Prowl was more than just a very good bureaucrat. As a Grand Duke he had more power than most, but also more responsibilities, among them the duty to protect their planet and to lead the army if the Prime called.

As such, it was only fitting that the doorwing was rough and told in the dark far more about his Lord's past than the shiny beautiful appendage during the day. Jazz shifted a bit closer to discern more of the doorwing, softly following the edge of the doorwing to the main body. There he hesitated with bated breath, but still his Lord didn't move. The Praxian Lord's frame radiated warmth and in the silence he could hear the near quiet systems laboring away.

Strange. He had been Consort of this mech for a vorn and knew him better than most, yet he still had remained a stranger in so many ways.

His hand hovered over the breast plate by now, very aware that below it, unreachable, laid the spark that had promised to wait for him until they became one or parted. Shouldn't they be more than strangers?

He very softly laid his hand on the breast plate, barely heavier than the air itself. Nothing happened. But he became even more acutely aware of the frame, whose minor vibrations raced up his arm and directly into his spark.

He yearned for more.

A breem went past and the yearning only intensified, until Jazz couldn't help but snuggle closer, touching hip on hip, upper leg on upper leg and head - after a brief hesitation - against shoulder.

And still, his Lord didn't move.

Slowly he relaxed, and shuttered his optics. His Lord was so warm... and surely, when they woke up in the morning, Lord Prowl would blame an unsettled recharge.

Content, Jazz let recharge protocols take over. He never noticed his Lord's hand moving to touch his helmet, only to fall away again.

In the morning the berth was empty and Lord Prowl gone. For a small moment Jazz unreasonably panicked, then he heard the muffled steps of a person next door. He should've known and remembered that his Lord was a very early riser. A check of the chronometre confirmed that he still had time to prepare for the orn.

He rose and summoned his servants. This time he chose a simpler robe made of the Grand Duke's colour. It complimented nicely with his visor. After it was put on, he waved the servants away, noticing that they still had a bit of time. Lord Prowl was again sitting looking over his datapads, calculating and solving problems far over the heads of most nobles. While Jazz admired his oath sworn's skill and determination, it now left him bereft of entertaiment.

A breem went past and he couldn't help but remember yesterday. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe Lord Prowl only recognized his skills, but didn't like music. Still, he thought as he looked at his Lord, still, it would be nice if it was more. He straightened and stepped towards his Lord:

"My Lord? Would you allow it that I play the Zyphern again? I do not want to disturb you."

"Play as it pleases you," was the distracted answer.

He did. But this time he didn't lose himself completely in the music, too aware of his Lord's presence just a few steps away. Lord Prowl, for all that, didn't appear to listen at all, but that was fine. Maybe, he contemplated, the datapads and numbers and calculations were for Prowl as music was to Jazz. Lord Prowl was extraordinarily good at it, too. Couldn't such an ability count as Talent as well? He would have to look it up, but it was a nice thought. It didn't mean they had something in common, but Talent rarely duplicated itself exactly. Yet, with understanding each other, it would help immeasurably.

The servant's announcement that the Barons and their guests awaited the Grand Duke and his Consort stopped them both in their enjoyment. With an uncharacteristic sigh, Lord Prowl offered his Consort his arm and together they walked to the so called Green Room.

Once the Green Room had probably been decorated in said color, but the Barons had chosen to move with the ever changing fashion and so the room was now a stunning symphony of dark-blue, silver and gold. High above them, the ceiling had been turned into a permanent night sky, that let nebulas and planets sparkle with every imaginable color. In the middle of the room was a long table wrought out of silver and other precious metals forming a huge 'u'. It was fully occupied and a fast headcount confirmed that with his Lord and himself, over fifty mechs would be sitting at the table, yet at the central table a mere thirteen mechs had place. Thirteen was the number of the first Primes that founded Cybertron and which was still said to bring prosperity to every household.

"Good morrow to you, my Lord, and Lord Consort," greeted Baron Softstep with a smile and led them to the head table. "We're happy that you're joining us today at our humble table."

Humble wasn't the word Jazz would've used to describe the table and its foods. More like opulent, but then Baron Softstep probably meant it metaphorically. After all, it wasn't every vorn a mere Baron dined together with a Grand Duke. He looked at the other guests at the head table and found his suspicions confirmed. Most were very important nobles or close members of the Baron's family.

"I'm grateful for the opportunity to join you," answered Lord Prowl evenly and took a seat. They were the last to arrive. "Please let us begin, this orn will surely be eventful."

Jazz, who had taken the only free seat left, found himself now across the table from his Lord. At the Grand Duke's left, the Barons themselves had taken place. It was only at the orn of their celebration that the Grand Duke wouldn't take the highest seat of honor at the center.

Around them were nobles he hadn't talked to or seen before. With a sigh, he took a small energon stick and started eating.

"Have you tried the treacle pudding over there already, Lord Consort?" asked the mech to his right suddenly. He was young, maybe even a bit younger than Jazz, with a dark finish and a friendly smile.

"Not yet," admitted Jazz. "Is it very good?"

"The very best around here!" praised the mech. "The chef probably has prepared it just for me, because my brother knows I love it."

"Your brother is the Baron, I guess...?" said Jazz slowly, taking an educated guess.

"Yes. Lighthouse to be exact. And I'm Lightflash. It's strange you know, I'm not even a Knight like my brother, because I choose the scholarly career and yet I'm eating here next to the Lord Consort himself. Not to mention that your oath mate is sitting across from us. Never thought I would see him for real."

That the mech wasn't a noble had been obvious from the first second. Not in his frame, but in his demeanor. It was too open and unguarded. Jazz found it refreshing to meet someone who was just curious and not someone who wanted anything more substantial from him.

"You and Lighthouse come from a Knight House, then?" he asked.

"Not a House, just a family," answered Lightsflash with a shrug, seemingly unaware that he was playing his own importance down. "Our creator was made Knight in the battles of Tolly, for pursuing and slaying a Zuzulexu general."

"A brave mech then," said Jazz honestly. He had seen pictures of Zuzulexu generals and they hadn't seem like small or harmless creatures at all. "And a good starting for your noble lineage."

Lightflash seemed suddenly unsure. "I guess." His gaze flickered over to his sibling. It seemed that he had become aware of the potential political fallout, should he incur the wrath of the Consort in front of him.

Jazz, sensitive to the moods of his conversation partners, smiled reassuringly. "It truly is. Bravery and honour are worthy traits in any family. And fortune has favored your family further with your brother having found the second half of his spark."

Many didn't. It was always a blessing of Primus to succeed in bonding, no matter if common or noble. Lightflash seemed to relax a bit and nodded.

"And I know of none who is more deserving of this blessing than my brother. Lighthouse has always wished to find his second half and prayed for it at the temples." A soft smile. "Even though at first he was a bit overwhelmed. I mean, Softstep is a true noble and we..." He caught himself at the last klick.

Jazz, though, didn't mind. He understood only too well. "It can be," he agreed. "The station difference between my Lord and myself is, in some ways, even bigger."

"Truly?" said Lightflash surprised. "I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

Jazz wondered if he should speak more about it. It felt good, but it was borderline private and as a result nearly improper. But if he was truthful, he was lonely. His Lord was distant and the servants always professionals, and all friends and families far away in an enemy Grand Duchy. There was no one he could speak to about his daily troubles, and how hard it sometimes was to accept that he was now the Consort of a Grand Duke and not a lowly noble who could mostly do as he wanted.

"It's not exactly common knowledge, especially considering that I'm a Polyhexian noble, a third creation of a Count House," Jazz explained. With that standing, it had been expected that he would make his own luck, maybe in the military or as a priest and contribute to his House's glory – but not much more. "I was not compatible with anyone in my own Grand Duchy, so my House decided to search Cybertron-wide. The match was a surprise to both of us."

An understatement if there had ever been on. Their match had dominated all of Praxus - Polyhexian politics for decaorns. But for Jazz it also had meant an end to the shame of being incompatible to everyone, a fate usually reserved for the truly mad or perverse. The rumors that there had to be something wrong with him in the previous vorns had hurt deeply, especially when he had caught his own family giving him weird glances. When the decision of a planetary search had been made, Jazz had prayed for a match – any match – at the temple. No matter how high or low born the mech was, he would accept it.

Lightflash gave him a smile. "Lighthouse was very surprised as well when he was shown his compatibility tests. There are many more Knights than Barons after all, and we first searched in our own class and territory, of course." He gave Jazz a quick glance to ensure that the Consort believed him.

To exclusively search for compatible mechs in stations above you, was not merely a breach of etiquette, but a declaration to do everything to rise. Such declarations usually weren't accepted benignly by the nobles and mechs of higher rank.

"I'm sure their pairing was the best option to both of them," agreed Jazz politely and looked towards the two Barons who seemed to lose themselves in each other's optics. "Their happiness is obvious." And if he sounded a bit wistful, there would be no one who wouldn't understand. After all, he was oath sworn to his 'icy Highness' and since orn one the bets on how long he would be capable of staying with Lord Prowl were the amusement of high society across Cybertron.

Jazz dared to glance at his Lord who was talking to his right neighbor who seemed to nearly melt from nervousness. Was there even a miniscule chance his Lord would consider bonding their sparks? They were not even interfacing or trusting each other, how could he dream of bonding? Yet he did. He has never reached an acceptable compatibility with any other mech, while with his Lord he had an astounding 98 points. Surely, all the tests couldn't be wrong and they had a chance achieve Primus' greatest blessing. Lord Prowl was quite literally the only mech on Cybertron Jazz was even capable of bonding to.

The lower the compatibility rate, the lower was the chance to complete the bonding successfully. Some... went horrifically wrong. Still, it never had stopped mechs from trying. Everyone dreamed of the perfect partner, and their own sparklings.

Lightflash had followed his glance. It was obvious he wanted to ask, but it would be impolite even when two mechs were of the same standing. To ask something like this of a Lord Consort would be foolish at best.

Jazz forced himself to concentrate on Lightflash again, and forced a smile: "You said you're a scholar, so tell me in what area you are seeking further enlightment?"

It had been the right subject to ask about; Lightflash soon was explaining animatedly the studies conducted at Praxus' Academy of History. Jazz listened attentively, enjoying the true enthusiasm.

Soon, the appertif was followed by the main course which was followed by a delicious dessert crowned by a red round crystal, glowing softly.

Appreciative 'ohs' went through the room as the procession of butlers brought the desserts in and placed them elegantly in front of every guest. Jazz made the same impressed noise as everyone else, while inside he winced.

It seemed that some things were the same among nobles wherever you went and boasting obviously was one of them. To serve another delicious dessert of the Polyhexian cook would probably have been too much to ask for. Instead they went to the trouble to acquire the rarest treat on the whole planet: Radishcrystals. A single crystal cost enough to fuel an average family for an entire vorn. To serve every guest a crystal indicated nothing less than a fortune.

This little crystals were pure luxury and a loud statement even among the highest ranks of nobles.

Luxurious crystals that tasted so acidic that Jazz would sooner rip out his own taste buds than eat it. But to not eat it would be an insult of the highest degree and reflect very badly on his Lord and House.

Discreetly, Jazz tried to look for a solution, but everywhere the guests were complimenting the Lords and eating the Radishcrystals happily. He wondered how many of them really liked the taste and how many just forced themselves to eat the crystals, because it was expected of them.

Really, they were pretty, he would admit that, but there was no reason besides the astronomical price to make them this sought after. He discreetly glanced at his Lord, but he appeared to have already eaten his crystals. Just like most other mechs at the table. If he didn't hurry, they would notice that something was wrong and then it was too late...

With a grimace which he was barely able to hide, he took the crystal into his servo and observed it to buy a few precious seconds more. It was cool in his hand, perfectly round and clear. It was a miracle that they grew like this in a single place on Cybertron. To not break them as they were delicate, they had to be mined by hand.

The dentas would destroy the little beauty and the fluid, which at the moment gave the glow just the enticing edge, would explode inside his mouth – he shuddered as he remembered his first and last Radishcrystal vorns ago.

Maybe he could throw it beneath the table. Or just let it roll away by 'mistake'. Or put it on another dessert. Or throw it through the room. If he was lucky no mech would see his fast movement...

"My Consort?" asked his Lord suddenly and Jazz was thrown out of his thoughts.

"My Lord?" he answered automatically. Inside, the panic rose, had his Lord noticed his inability to eat the Radishcrystals? Would he mention it? Had others noticed? But so far it was only Lord Prowl who was paying attention to him. Which was good in some ways, but worse in others. Surely, his Lord had noticed his childish weakness...

Lord Prowl hesitated for a miniscule moment, then he said, "My Radishcrystals were delicious. I wouldn't mind a second one."

For an astrosecond, Jazz thought his audios were malfunctioning. Surely, his Lord couldn't mean that he wanted to eat the acidic atrocity. But then he snapped back into reality and smiled. This was perfect. As a Consort he would even 'honor' his hosts by giving such a treasure to his Lord and not keeping it, especially as it was food and fuel. Who was he to say no to his own Lord?

"My Lord, please take this one then, it will be delicious as well, I'm sure." He offered up his own Radishcrystal with a flourish and a black hand shot eagerly forward, took it and let it vanish in the mouth of his Lord.

Jazz could only stare surprised as his Lord ate it with obvious enjoyment. Maybe he was a far better actor than Jazz had surmised before. Surely, he couldn't actually like these crystals, right?

"Again, very good," praised his Lord loudly. A bit quieter he added: "Thank you, my Consort."

As the times before he felt a warm wave inside his spark at the single word that he desired to hear above all else. "Always, my Lord," he answered and meant it.

Some nobles had noticed the small interaction favorably, which would strengthen Jazz's position in all future public appearances. His Lord left no doubt that he was his Consort in all areas that mattered.

Jazz gazed back at his Lord and thought that he really was lucky. Not all Consorts had such a support by their Lord, compatibility or not. He should show his Lord how much that meant to Jazz and how much he appreciated it.

Which brought him to his decaorn old problem, to find a gift for his Lord.

Though...

His Lord really had seemed to enjoy those crystals. And as Jazz knew that he wasn't a good actor and didn't like sweet or even neutral desserts, only acidic tastes were left. And Radishcrystals were clearly something his Lord would indulge himself in...

As all around him the banquet continued, he started to calculate how many Radishcrystals he could buy from the stipend his Lord gave him. They were expensive beyond reason, but if he saved up a bit longer he would be able to afford it.

Slowly, a plan was growing inside his processor, which made him smile in truth and not just out of politeness. He started his chat with Lightflash anew, when the dessert was replaced by high-grade cubes and a quintet of very skilled musicians.

Jazz trained optics immediately recognized that all five were maester trained and blessed with considerable Talent. The aria they began with was slow and kind of breezy, creating sounds seemingly wrought out of light and newness and opportunity. It was a famous piece by the old maester of Crystal City, the Aria of Hope.

It would've been easy to lose himself inside the music, but here he was a noble foremost. Still, his spark yearned to be able to talk to them just once. He crushed the desire with will and lifelong training and turned to the nobles around him. It was time to learn who he was seated with beyond Lighflash and the Barons.

Prequel: The Medic s/10907513/1/The-Medic


	4. Chapter 4

Beta: The lovely Starfire201

**Radishes**

**"The Celebration": Part Four**

A joor later the Barons invited their guests to the gardens. It was the last part of the celebrations, as gardens were usually copious enough that nobles could take their leave without everyone noticing and commenting on it immediately. Also offered gardens more privacy for hosts and guests in form of little alcoves, mazes, and simple distance.

This garden was no different, but a nice surprise. Jazz had nearly forgotten that they were at the countryside, but the garden brought it to processor again. Huge crystal structures towered above the garden, all of them clearly older than the villa and every mech attending the celebrations. The crystals shined and glimmered in dozens of different colours, ranging from dark blue to golden. Beneath the structures, their shadows provided welcomed coolness to the guests and yet another banquet with sweets and desserts.

A bit further on, he could make out a rust lake, while on the other side a whole copper forest began. The five musicians had found another good spot on top of a small podest. Each placed his instrument in front of them with the same care one would offer a sparkling and started to play. It was a new arie by the famous maester of Kaon, Soundwave and had said maesters very recognisable style in every note. Jazz couldn't help but start to tap his pede to it.

"You would honour me, my Consort, if you gave me your first dance this orn," said his Lord suddenly next to him and offered the arm, palm up.

Jazz spark stuttered. To dance with his Lord, to touch him this way... the last time had been so long ago. He took the hand without hesitation. "It would be a honor."

Very aware of the many optics on them as they entered the dancing spot, he felt a bit nervous. It was common knowledge that his Lordship didn't enjoy dancing, and by now probably every noble who had been there yesterday knew that his Consort, on the contrary, did. No doubt they would analyze every move, every emotion and misstep.

He remembered the orns after the compatibility results had reached him, and his brothers and he had searched for anything that connected Lord Prowl and Jazz. But there had been nothing. Their compatibility had seemingly come out of nowhere, as they shared no hobbies, no skills, no history. In fact, Jazz's outgoing personality had seemed like the very anathema to the Grand Duke's. The prospects had been so bleak that Hightone had even suggested to not accept the Grand Duke's offer. Jazz, who remembered his prayers at the temple, had disagreed and hoped that there was something.

Nearly one vorn later, he still had found not a single similarity. And yet, he remembered his Lord's Prowl acceptance of his music, and all the tiny steps.

And now his Lord wanted to dance with him and the only possible reasons could be Jazz himself.

Jazz turned to his Lord and they both got into proper positions. Then his Lord moved and Jazz moved with them and they were finally dancing. Together. And shall all the other judge, Jazz couldn't help but smile.

Meanwhile, Lord Prowl was far from smiling. His face was blank, his doorwings stiff, and Jazz could feel the extraordinary tenseness that had taken hold of the Grand Duke. Every step and tiny movement was precisely controlled, instead of letting the music itself dictate the rhythm. As a result his Lord's dance was technically correct, but far from graceful. Lacking all fluidity, even Jazz had trouble to turn it into something that was acceptable to any dance instructor.

"My Lord," he whispered quietly after a while. "If... would you..." He faltered, sure that his idea was madness. There was no exact protocol against it, especially considering they were Lord and Consort, but still... he had never seen it done. The higher standing mech led the dance, always. Around them the other pairs danced on, all of them an example to that rule.

Lord Prowl seemed puzzled by his behaviour, his doorwings moving a bit further up, as if standing to attention. "Jazz, if you feel the desire to tell me something, please don't hesitate."

Another perfectly executed turn, that could've been just a bit better, a bit more lively.

"You are graceful as always, my Lord," he began hesitatingly, not sure how to tell a mech of such standing that he was a worse dancer than Jazz. "Yet maybe our dance would profit from my lead? Of course only, if my Lord would wish me to." He didn't dare to look at Lord Prowl's face and instead stared at his Lord's shoulder, sure that he was overstepping some line. Or a few dozen.

For a second his Lord stiffened and nearly missed his step, then just as suddenly he relaxed. Jazz expected the worst.

"I suppose that considering the possibility that you have musical Talent, it would be illogical for me to lead," admitted his Lord slowly. "Especially as I have been told that my dancing skill has never reached beyond the grade of being passable."

Jazz blinked and realised that the last sentence had been a very dry joke of his Lord. He nearly laughed, though that was more thanks to the realisation that his Lord didn't mind, no even better, maybe even understood. He relaxed into his Lord's arms fully for the first time. "I'm sure if his Lordship would work on his dancing, he would be able to reach a far higher grade."

"I have had difficulty so far in finding a patient enough teacher such an endeavour would need," countered his Lord and subtly changed his position so that now his Consort was able to lead.

Jazz smoothly transitioned and began to weave with his Lord through the other couples. It was like the taste of freedom – exhilarating, especially as his Lord moved at the slightest touch. "I might be able to find someone willing as long as his Lordship isn't expecting a maester himself."

His Lord's face passed an emotion that resembled a smile. "It doesn't have to be a maester. Of course, there is the matter of payment... what would that teacher of mine wish for?"

Did that mean that his Lord was really considering letting Jazz teach him...? Jazz knew that he didn't have the processor power to spare to walk down thought path at an emotional level that high, but he couldn't stop the hope flaring in his spark. And what did he wish for...? "I think the teacher would wish for lessons that his Lord could teach," he said carefully. "As there is nothing more expensive as your time, my Lord."

For a moment his Lord's optics darkened, then he nodded. "My time it is, then. I will set aside time for these lessons then."

"Thank you." Jazz couldn't believe his luck.

They danced a few steps on, turned and Jazz slowly increased the difficulty of their steps. When the music changed, Jazz changed their rhythmn with it and after a few steps his Lord followed, copying his Consort. It was easy and fun and the overall result far better than their dancing before.

A glance at the mechs on the edge of the dancing floor showed that they were indeed observed by most mechs as he had thought, and smiled proudly.

It was several aries later that his Lord led him away from the dance floor to the table with the sweets. Palm upon palm and Jazz couldn't help but marvel at it. What before had felt impersonal and strange, had now somehow become natural. His Lord and he moved together as if they belonged together.

Jazz's spark throbbed with a sudden heavy longing for more.

"It wasn't my intention to deprive you of my time," said his Lord suddenly.

Jazz gave him a surprised look. "You didn't, my Lord," he hurried to say and then felt the words turn into a lie. Yes, he had and Jazz had spent many nights awake asking himself if he wasn't welcomed after all. If he had just been a political move, a piece to show that his icy Highness had a spark after all. "It's only natural that you're very busy with Praxus and your duties to the Prime."

"It's true that I'm very busy," admitted his Lord, as if his worth ethic wasn't a thing to be feared. Before he could say more though, they were approached by a bonded pair of Praxus nobility and every personal matter was dropped immediately. They should've never even discussed it here, where so many mechs might be listening in, thought Jazz. Yet he couldn't muster anger, his hope for the future was just too strong.

The celebration slowly came to its end. As the sky turned darker and the first nobles began to leave, Lord Prowl didn't hesitate longer. He approached the Barons, formally congratulated them again on their successful bonding and wished them well, assuring them that they had his protection. Jazz complimented them on a beautiful celebration, praised their sweets and the Zyther in the bedroom. The Barons took both their statements gracefully, and assured the two of their future loyalty and that of their whole line to the House of Praxus.

Baron Softstep then bowed and accompanied them out to the waiting carriage. "Lord Prowl, Lord Consort Jazz, it was an honour to have had you here with us on this orn. It will be remembered for vorns to come."

"The honour was mine," replied Lord Prowl politely.

"Still," Baron Softstep pulled something out of his subspace and offered it up. "We both want to give you this small token as a sign of our thankfulness."

When his Lord didn't move, Jazz took the token into his servo. It was a small tin box, heavily decorated with crystal shards. As he carefully opened it, he discovered a long delicate chain of tiny silver metal leaves woven into each other, decorated beautifully by white diamonds. It was a traditional gift for noble couples trying for a sparkling by those that had sworn them fealty. The carrier would wear those chains, woven into each cape with the House colours during the whole carrying, as a proclamation of who and what the sparkling would be.

"It's beautiful," Jazz said quietly, while trying not to blush.

"That it is," agreed his Lord quietly. "We're honoured by your gift, Baron Softstep."

The Baron bowed. "Our loyalty belongs to you and your House," he said.

They entered the carriage after the farewell words, Jazz still holding the small tin box between his servos. He had never before thought about sparklings with Lord Prowl, but to now see this chain gifted to them both he knew that others had seen this possibility clearly. He tried to imagine a sparkling between them. Who would carry? They would be bonded, which made them of the same standing, with the same duties. Jazz couldn't see his Lord as a carrier, but it wasn't impossible. He hoped that any sparkling between them would have Lord Prowl's intelligence and work ethic, then it couldn't fail in life no matter what.

"Jazz," the word was said coldly, and he nearly flinched. As he looked up, he saw that his Lord was sitting with crossed arms before him with no datapads near, instead nearly glaring at his Consort. The dream of a sparkling died abruptly. Had he done something wrong? But what?

"My Lord?" he asked and set the tin box beside him.

"You claimed this box and opened it, without checking it for any danger." Lord Prowl frowned. "Refrain from doing so in the future. Your position now ensures that you have plenty of enemies that want to see you dead. Not to mention my own enemies. You cannot touch anything not having been approved beforehand."

Jazz blinked, surprised by the harsh tone. "It was a gift by the Baron himself..."

"I am aware of this fact," said his Lord drily. "It does not excuse the risk you took."

"My Lord, we slept under their roof, ate their food, and surely you had them checked before setting a single pede on their land..."

"Of course their background was checked," admitted his Lord. "Also was our room checked beforehand by my own guards, and later every time when we left it. The food preparation was observed by my own cook and every third guard at the whole premise was one of my own House. I do not take any risks."

Jazz gulped. He hadn't been aware of such a high security around his Lord's and his own spark. He should've been. Just because the involved mechs were experts, and as such not supposed to be seen, wasn't an excuse. He lowered his gaze. "Forgive me, my Lord. It will not happen again."

A beat of silence, then: "Good."

"Shall I submit the chain for later inspection?" asked Jazz dejected.

His Lord nodded. "A good idea, yes. There are some poisons that work only on unborn sparklings."

Jazz couldn't hide his flinch this time.

Seeing something in Jazz's demeanour, he added in a softer tone: "I do not really think that the Barons want us any ill, but I have learned to prepare for the worst."

Jazz nodded, knowing only too well why Prowl had no immediate family left. Natural deaths hadn't been anywhere on that particular list.

"I will improve my behavior," he promised quietly. No matter what, he would not be the reason why his Lord would die.

His Lord nodded approvingly. "If it helps you, I can ask the Head of the Guard to give you lessons. I myself took some when I was younger. It was very... instructive."

Jazz had no desire to learn about the many ways a noble mech could be killed. Realistically, he knew that they would improve his survival chances. "I would be glad for the opportunity, my Lord."

This seemed to settle the matter for Lord Prowl, as he took out several datapads from subspace and began to work. Jazz's gaze wandered again to the tin box, trying to think of the ways to kill a mech with such a beautiful jewelry. Though his thoughts wandered back to the symbolism of the chain inside. At least, it seemed that the nobles of Praxus were ready to accept him as a fellow noble and maybe even as their Lord Consort. That was more than he could've expected in Polyhex had he been there in the same situation. Polyhexian nobles were organised in tightly knit groups of alliances and he would've had to build his own net of power. Here, though, mechs seemed to welcome him.

He let his helmet fall back against the soft headrest of the carriage as he analysed all that had happened. It hadn't been much time, and yet there had been so many signs and moments that had given him hope.

He sat up straighter again. There was hope. And he would fight for it, for his own happy ending that would one orn include the silver chain next to him.

"My Lord," he said. "May I help you again?" He pointed at the never decreasing pile of datapads.

Lord Prowl didn't hesitate this time. He took a datapad that he had sat aside earlier (had he waited for Jazz's question?), and gave it to him: "It's about the differing iron prices in the cities. I need to know, where it is cheapest, where the most expensive and why."

"I will find out, my Lord."

He took the datapad and began to read it. It was dry and boring and important. This was about the Grand Duchy he lived in and which his Lord ruled. He should be able to do this.

As the carriage slowed, Prowl took all datapads back and subspaced them again. At the same time, Jazz heard a trumpet, its tone light and clear, announcing the return of the ruler and protector of Praxus and all its houses. It sounded the first line of Praxus' anthem, a song every sparkling already learned in primary school here. Jazz had only learned it immediately before his oath ceremony when his creators pointed out that the song would be played, as it was the oath ceremony of the Grand Duke of Praxus. He had felt strange learning it, and when it had played and he had sung the words all he had felt was sadness. He had been no Polyhexian anymore like everyone else he knew and loved and that knowledge had bit surprisingly deep.

But wounds healed and now the sound only brought wistfulness for him. He didn't love Praxus yet, but he had come closer.

The carriage had halted and his Lord stood. "Jazz?"

Jazz took the offered arm, again with the palms touching each other, and Lord Prowl knocked once at the door. Immediately was opened by a guard, who knelt at the side. In front of them the Palaise stood, as gorgeous and majestic as always. The first time he had seen it, he had been impressed and slightly scared.

On the plaza, the whole staff of the Palaise was kneeling in a greeting of their returned Lord and Lord Consort. At the side, the guards stood in rows, embellishing the scene and protecting them at the same time.

And all this just because they had been two orns away. It was a far cry from the welcome he received when he had returned to his family House after a journey. Then, only his family had greeted him with a few words and hugs. Jazz wondered what the protocol would demand after the return from a battle or maybe even war. Probably a victory march through the city and celebrations for orns.

Directly in front of them kneeled Bowgrade, hand over spark, optics firmly on the ground. The picture of etiquette and dutifulness

"Rise, Bowgrade," ordered Lord Prowl and his voice carried over the whole square. The Master of the House obeyed with the fluid elegance of long practice. "Please take care of our luggage and meet me in a joor in my office." He looked to the side at a guard, who at first glance was indistinguishable from the rest, but a second glance revealed several markings of a decorated war hero. "Quickstrike, inside the carriage is a tin box. Make sure it is safe."

Quickstrike, head of the guard and one of the best swordfighters of Cybertron, bowed. "With pleasure, my Lord."

Lord Prowl nodded, satisfied, and led his Consort back to the Palaise. Jazz looked up and at one of the towers a flag with the Grand Duke's blue and his emblem was raised – the visible sign that he was home. When it touched the peak of the pole, and flapped in the wind, the trumpet sounded again.

He concentrated on his steps, when they reached the white stairs to the gate. Atop of the staircase, Lord Prowl freed himself of Jazz's arm. "The time spent with you had been enjoyable," the Lord said. "I will sent you the meeting times for our training together."

Jazz bowed. "I've enjoyed our time together as well. And I look forward to those training sessions."

Lord Prowl gave a curt nod, then he turned around and simply walked away, no doubt in his processor already listing things that needed to be done.

A bit forlorn, Jazz remained standing at the Palaise entrance, looking after him. It was strange how quickly he had gotten used to be at his Lord's side and how acutely he felt the loss of the loss now.

Then he remembered all the small things he learned in the last orn and straightened. He had caught a glimpse of something that could belong to him and was worth fighting for.

He smiled as he started planning.

We are near the end of this story. Only the Epilogue is missing, which will give us a glimpse of the future. I will not leave the universe at all, but return soon with "The Ascension", which explains Prowl's past. So everyone who wondered what happened to Prowl's creators, or who / what caused his paranoia or why the other nobles are all a bit scared of him, can find the answers there. ;)

Besides that, I will of course not stop the story here. But I will from now on try to upload the whole thing chronologically, which is why "Ascension" comes first.

Thank you to all who wrote me such lovely reviews last time. :)

~silber


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